


Climb

by hiasobi_writes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Pollen, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:56:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiasobi_writes/pseuds/hiasobi_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They stare at each other from across the entryway, equally stunned, before Derek's eyes dilate and Stiles realizes just how monumental a bad idea this may have been.</p><p>(Or, the one where Stiles plays with wolfsbane and it doesn't do what he expected it to.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Climb

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://hiaplayswithfire.tumblr.com/post/29292189578/au-in-which-stiles-is-learning-about-the) gifset on tumblr, and enabled by about a half a dozen different people who I am no longer endeared to. Contains only cursory Wikipedia research into various species of _Aconitum_ (the genus for all forms of wolfsbane) because I'm lazy and also if I'd spent too much time researching it never would have gotten finished. Unbeta'd, and written in about six hours. So. Enjoy?

They're about three months into Stiles' training before Deaton takes the wolfsbane out.

Well, the books about wolfsbane. The wolfsbane itself doesn't come out until about two weeks after that, because Deaton had insisted that Stiles be able to identify and differentiate by sight the sixteen major types of wolfsbane used by hunters, as well as another twelve that are used by the wolves themselves. So by the time they actually get the wolfsbane out, Stiles knows more about the plant and its derivatives than he ever wanted to.

Except that his eyes catch on one particular strain that has his mind coming to a screeching halt.

He reaches for it, but Deaton smacks his wrist and hands him a pair of gloves. After giving the requisite eye roll, he picks it up, just to make sure he isn't seeing things, and then turns back to Deaton, raising an eyebrow. " _Hemsleyanum_ , Doc? Really?"

Deaton makes a face like he isn't sure whether to grin at him or frown disapprovingly. He gives himself time to put on his own gloves before he takes it back, careful to keep from letting the bloom touch his skin. "Purely for antidotes, Stiles."

Stiles snorts. "It's common name is "Climbing Monkshood" for more than just the fact that it's a climbing plant. Your books made that _very_ clear."

Deaton's face is a full blown smirk now. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Hardly." Stiles reaches for the sprig closest to him. "And you have _paradoxum_ too. Is that just for antidotes as well?"

"No, that one we will be using extensively."

"In spite of the fact that it causes hallucinations on both humans and werewolves?"

"Precisely _because_ of that fact."

"Ah."

"Now. Identify them for me."

If he stutters a little on the two on either side of the _hemsleyanum_ ( _coreanum_ and _reclinatum_ , both of which should have been easy because of how extensively they're used), Deaton doesn't say anything.

\----

The idea sits at the back of Stiles' head for about a month before he really starts to consider it. Because, yeah, things with him and Derek are _fine_ , but the man still doesn't seem to understand that Stiles is nineteen, and has been for about four months. And, sure, they've graduated past the days where Derek wouldn't get horizontal with him into handjobs and blowjobs, but for all that the feel of Derek's cock stretching his jaw so wide it aches still makes him come far too quickly, he kind of just wants Derek's dick in his ass.

So, yeah, the thought of magically helping that along is sounding more and more appealing by the day.

He waits until Deaton gets accosted by a worried client to palm half a dozen sprigs of the _hemsleyanum_ , and wastes no time in preparing it when he gets back to the Hale house.

He's just managed to get it safe-but-still-potent and pressed over his pulse on both his neck and wrists when Derek gets home.

They stare at each other from across the entryway, equally stunned, before Derek's eyes dilate and Stiles realizes just how monumental a bad idea this may have been.

Then Derek's pinning him to the wall and licking the mixture from one side of his neck and groaning and doing the same to the other side. He's rutting helplessly up against Stiles' hip, and dear god Stiles must not have watered it down enough. But Derek drags himself back just far enough to pant against his neck; "Son... of a bitch... the hell.. did you..." And then Derek's tongue is in his mouth and Stiles is whimpering and clutching at his arms while they both struggle to stay upright.

He doesn't bother trying to talk while Derek licks at his teeth and the roof of his moth, but as soon as he's backed away and started kissing at his jaw and throat instead, the words start pouring out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Deaton said--the books said--you weren't supposed to be home for another _hour_ \--"

"Wanted to surprise you; wanted to take you out; wanted to take my time with you; you son of a _bitch_ \--"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't think; do I need to cancel reservations, or--?"

But Derek's already completely sidetracked; "You cheater, you fucking _cheater_ , I just want to pin you to the bed and never let you _leave_ \--"

"I certainly wouldn't complain about that."

Derek whimpers against his neck and then he lets go of his hips to scrabble at his shirt. "Take it off, take it off, need to touch you--"

"Okay, okay, Jesus, Derek, calm down, we've got all-- _oh_."

Derek's on his knees, nosing over Stiles' stomach, kissing and biting at the skin as he goes. Stiles slides his fingers into his hair, mindless and wild with both the familiarity of the position and the newness of Derek's assertiveness. But when Derek goes for the button of his jeans Stiles knows where this is going to end up and no, _no_ , that is _not_ how tonight was supposed to go.

"Derek, Derek, wait, _wait_ \--"

"Wait for what?" he snarls out, hand sliding between the vee of Stiles' zipper to tug at his cock. "You're the one that started this."

And then Derek's mouthing at the head through his boxers and it takes some kind of strength Stiles didn't know he had to tug Derek upright. "No, no, bed, Derek, come on, the _bed_."

Derek growls against Stiles' throat, biting lightly at it, and if Stiles' knees go a little weak, it's actually probably a good thing, because it gives him an excuse for the way he lets Derek haul him up and wrap his legs around his waist to carry him to the bedroom. He takes a brief moment to rebalance himself, and then pushes Derek's shirt up and over his head. As soon as he's free of the top, Derek goes right back to biting at Stiles' neck and lips, no doubt leaving bruises that Deaton will comment on tomorrow.

(Or won't because he'll be too busy chastising Stiles for using his knowledge inappropriately. Which, fuck propriety if it gets him Derek plastered all along his front and manhandling him onto the bed to suck and bite at whatever skin he can get at.)

Seconds after depositing him on the bed, Derek's stripping Stiles' jeans off and mouthing at him through his boxers. Then he slides them off slowly, cupping his balls and licking at his shaft and--

"Wait, wait, _wait_!"

He feels Derek's entire body go tense above him, and then he's dragging his head up to stare at Stiles through still lust-fogged eyes. "What?" he croaks.

"I don't... I don't want you to blow me."

"Then why the hell did you--"

"I want you to fuck me."

Derek whimpers in the back of his throat and presses his face into the cut of Stiles' pelvis, his own hips moving restlessly against the bed. He whispers something against Stiles' skin, making Stiles arch sharply into Derek's mouth while Derek nuzzles at his hip.

"Derek," Stiles gasps out, "Derek, what--"

"Don't ask me that. Stiles, please, don't--"

"Why? I know I've never asked outright, but I've hinted enough that you _have_ to know and you've never even come close. So just. _Why?_ "

"I don't... I can't..." Derek's whining in the back of his throat again, high and terrified in a way that makes Stiles want to hold him close and give up on it, but they need to talk about this, dammit, and maybe doing it with wolfsbane wasn't his best plan, but he'd been at his wit's end and he just needs to _understand_.

He tugs Derek up toward him, but Derek just buries his face in Stiles' neck, still refusing to look at him. "Are you worried about hurting me?" Stiles offers. "Because if you are, I'm sure--"

"It's not that," he mumbles up against Stiles' throat, his stubble rubbing against Stiles' shoulder and making him shiver. "It's not... I know I could never hurt you."

"You're damn right about that," Stiles murmurs back, tugging Derek up into an soft kiss that's mostly just the brush of their lips. Then he draws back. "So then what is it?"

But Derek just presses his face back into Stiles' shoulder and reaches down to cup his cock, and Stiles is almost willing to let it go given that he's the one that did this to Derek in the first place, but he's _Stiles_ and he _can't_.

"Derek?"

"Don't wanna fuck you," he mutters, still pulling at Stiles' dick in that way that makes him hard and leaves him writhing but is just a touch too tight to get him off; "Want you to fuck me."

Stiles' mind goes still at that. Then he's hauling Derek up into another kiss, nails scrabbling at the back of his head while he sucks at Derek's lip. "Derek," he gasps out, "Derek, fucking hell, Derek, you never said--"

"You just assumed--"

"You're the Alpha, of _course_ I assumed, but Jesus fuck, Derek, _Derek_ \--"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And then they're both scrambling for the bedside table and Derek is laughing and pressing his face into Stiles' shoulder blade while Stiles shivers and knocks the drawer out, only to dive down and grab at the lube, dragging it up and turning to stare at Derek.

"Do you--?"

Derek cuts him off with a kiss. "You do it."

And Stiles is glad that he's already on his knees because if he wasn't he's pretty sure he'd collapse at the trust in the way Derek splays his body out in front of him, legs spread wide in an obscene invitation. He quirks an eyebrow at Stiles, but Stiles can still see the way the wolfsbane has left him squirming and writhing in his skin.

So he takes the thirty seconds necessary to strip him of his jeans and gets in close and noses at Derek's chin until he tilts his head back in submission.

"Atta boy," he murmurs, slicking up his middle finger and circling Derek's hole with it. Derek actually whimpers against him, but doesn't move. "Is this what you wanted?" Stiles whispers against Derek's throat. "Throat bared like that? Legs wide open, just begging for someone to come up and take you? Is that what you wanted?"

"Stiles," Derek pants out, "Stiles, Stiles, _Stiles_ \--"

Stiles slides his finger in, pressing and testing the give. It's easy--too easy--to slide in and it makes Stiles draw back to stare at Derek.

"Done this before, haven't you?" he says thoughtfully. "Opened yourself on your fingers? Haven't you?" He stills his fingers, waiting for Derek to reply. When he just whines and shoves himself down on Stiles' hand, Stiles withdraws it altogether, ignoring the cry that punches out of Derek's chest. "Well?" he asks again, one hand pressing at the center of Derek's chest, even though he could never hold Derek down if he wanted to get away. But Derek isn't moving and Jesus _Christ_ that shouldn't make Stiles as hot as it does. " _Haven't you?_ "

"Yes, okay!" The words seem to be dragging themselves out of Derek's chest against his will, and his eyes are flashing red. "Yes!"

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I've fucked myself on my fingers. Opened myself up and imagined..."

Stiles lets the words hang for a moment, before he lets Derek off the hook. "Imagined it was me?"

Derek just whines at that.

"Imagined taking my dick in your ass like that? Imagined letting me own you like that? Imagined being _mine?_ "

A tiny little sob punches out of his chest. "Stiles, please--"

Stiles slides two fingers into his ass and his tongue into his mouth in reward. Derek's hands fly up to grab at his shoulders while the whine in his throat starts up again. Stiles stays there for a long moment, more just letting their tongues mingle than a proper kiss, before he pulls back. "Just fucking begging for something to fill you up, aren't you? So fucking needy."

And Stiles doesn't know where the words are coming from, doesn't know what's making him say it, wonders if maybe the wolfsbane did something to _him_ too, but then Derek's clenching down on his fingers and he discards that thought as something to worry about later, because right now he has his boyfriend--Jesus _fuck_ , his _Alpha werewolf_ boyfriend--strung out, riding his fingers, and absolutely begging to be fucked.

So he slides another finger in and Derek's hands tighten on his shoulders, only to disappear altogether, the tips of his claws ghosting over Stiles' shoulders before they dig into the mattress. "Atta boy," Stiles murmurs again, "just let go."

Derek lets loose an almighty howl that has Stiles suddenly grateful for the fact that he'd convinced Derek to fix up the house, meaning they have no neighbors, while also desperately hoping that the pack knows better than to come running.

But he pushes that thought aside and spreads his fingers apart, testing, and when Derek pants out something like _please_ , Stiles tugs his fingers out and gives the bedside table a cursory glance. "Condom?"

"Don't need it, don't want it, wanna feel you, Stiles, please--"

"Derek--"

"Can't get sick, can't get _you_ sick, not when you're inside me, not when I'm _yours_ ; Stiles, Stiles, _please_ \--"

And then Derek's pressing his own fingers inside himself, like he can't bear to be empty, and Stiles gives up on restraint. He hauls Derek's fingers back out and slides in in one slick push. Derek tugs Stiles down to muffle his scream against his shoulder.

They lie there, suspended in time for a moment before Derek bucks his hips, and then Stiles is off, driving into Derek without restraint. Derek throws his head back, throat bared and Stiles wastes no time in taking the gift, biting from his collarbones up to where the stubble starts.

The pace is too hard and too fast to get either of them off, but Stiles can't seem to slow himself down. It just keeps escalating until he can feel the bruises starting on his hips and Derek's whines have turned into tiny choked off sobs while he claws at the bed. Stiles digs his nails into Derek's shoulders and squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his hips to slow, until he's able to stop altogether, pressed inside Derek as deep as he can go.

Derek chokes on his own breath, reaching up to scrabble at his shoulders with nails he's clearly retracted through sheer force of will. "Stiles," he sobs out, "Stiles, wait, no, why did you stop?"

But Stiles just shakes his head, slides out (ignoring the broken little whine Derek gives) and rolls them both over so Derek's straddling him. "Like this."

And Derek just _groans_ , rising to his knees and reaching behind himself to grasp Stiles' cock and slide down on it. Stiles reaches out wildly for his hips, digging his fingers in deep while Derek goes on panting at the new position.

"That's it," Stiles moans out as Derek starts to pump his hips. "Take it. Take it like you were _made_ for it."

"You dick," Derek pants out, some of his usual sass resurfacing. "You absolute _dick_ , you did this to me, I can't believe I--" But then his words cut off in a whimper when Stiles punches his hips up to meet Derek's.

"Ah, ah, ah, Derek, I wouldn't do that if I were you." The bizarre confidence is still there, thrumming in his veins while Derek rides him. "I could always just walk out, leave you here, empty and open and begging for it."

"You _bitch_."

"Not tonight." Stiles smirks, tugging Derek down to him by the neck while he goes on meeting his thrusts. "Tonight you're _my_ bitch." Then he bites at Derek's lips, dragging his teeth along them, coaxing something like obedience out of him.

"Fuck," Derek chokes out. "Fuck, Stiles, _fuck_."

"I already am." Derek levels a glare at him, but then Stiles twists his hips and Derek's eyelids flutter shut while he groans. "And you love it." Derek groans. "Love having me inside you. Love being fucking _owned_."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, _Stiles_."

And then Derek's got a hand on his dick and he's twisting his hips and arching his back and Stiles just stares while he comes, long and hard over his stomach and Stiles' and it leaves Stiles with sweaty hands grabbing at Derek's hips while he clenches hard around him. And then Stiles is following him a moment later, coming where he's still pressed inside Derek.

The rest there for a long moment, just staring at each other. Then Derek's rising up on his knees, letting Stiles slide out before dropping to the bed, staring at him. Stiles just stares back, praying that Derek breaks the silence first.

He doesn't.

"I'm sorry."

Derek flinches.

"Not... not about what happened," Stiles is quick to correct. "But about how I did it. I wasn't thinking."

Derek actually laughs at that. "Like you _ever_ think when it comes to this kind of thing?" It's Stiles' turn to flinch. But then Derek reaches out and tugs Stiles toward him, rubbing the tip of his nose over Stiles' cheekbone. "And although I can't say I approve of the way you went about it, I'm _definitely_ not complaining about the results."

Stiles tries not to think too hard about the way that makes something in his stomach loosen. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, okay then."

Derek kisses him again. "Okay then."

Stiles pokes Derek in the ribs. "But next time," he insists, "you're fucking _me_."

"That depends," Derek says, rolling them back over so he's hovering over Stiles. "Are you going to be begging and breathless when I do?"

"When am I not?"

Derek blinks, thinking it over. Then he grins and shrugs. "Point."

"Well," Stiles tugs him down, breathing lightly over Derek's mouth. "No time like the present." And he tugs Derek down into a kiss.


End file.
